“In some way or another it’s beautiful. The human grandeur. How we take on the world. It is perhaps the engineer in me that’s talking now, but it’s all this that has lifted us out of poverty. That has made progress possible.”

At first I didn’t reply. Where was he going with this?

“Human grandeur,” I said finally. “A contradiction.”

“What?”

“A contradiction in terms. The words human and grandeur do not belong in the same sentence.”

“It must be possible to have two thoughts in your head at the same time.”

“Have you ever said something like that to your father? That you think the power lines are . . . formidable?”

“Mom and Dad . . . they have actually managed just fine without that summer farm. It didn’t turn out to be the catastrophe they feared. They received compensation, it was done by the book, even he had to admit that.”

Magnus’s gaze followed the high-tension cables that were running through the mountain wilds and pointed. “This is a result of man’s ability to plan—that we are able to imagine a future, provide for ourselves, our children, our old age. And for those who will come after us. And it’s even clean. The energy is clean.”

“And for that reason we are superior to other species, because we know how to plan?”

“Like all other species, we take care of ourselves. It’s instinct,” he said.

“So what drives us? Instinct or intellect?”

He hesitated. “Both.”

“But the development of hydroelectric power is the result of intellect?”

“Yes.”

“I would say that it’s rather a result of instinct.”

I started walking again, didn’t want to look at him any longer.

“You don’t plan enormous hydroelectric power plants instinctively,” he said, hurrying to follow after me.

“But if we agree that humans instinctively provide for themselves and their own children,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Then these developments are a result of instinct—an instinct that has been faulty.”

I stared at the road in front of me. It was still just as ugly.

“Faulty?” he said.

“You say it’s in our nature to provide for our descendants. But we are really only providing for ourselves. Ourselves and our children. At the very most, our grandchildren. We forget about those who will come after them. While we are also capable of making changes that will have an impact on hundreds of future generations, that will destroy things for everyone who comes after us. Ergo, our protective instinct has malfunctioned.”

“You’re a pessimist, do you know that?”

I was walking faster now. I wanted to get away but couldn’t stop myself from answering him. “No. I’m a determinist. There is nothing to guarantee that everything will be fine. For the human race. For the world.”

“Nothing?” he said. “Think about World War II . . .”

“We have to go to the war, yes.” I tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow.